


An Immortal’s Memories

by curlsborealis



Series: Fantasy High Afterhours [1]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic Adaine Abernant, Aromantic Riz gukgak, Asexual Adaine Abernant, Asexual Riz Gukgak, Bisexual Gorgug Thistlespring, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, I Blame D20SOC, Immortal Fig Faeth, Like quite a bit, M/M, No beta I die like a fool, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Why Did I Write This?, i may or may not have cried a lil bit while writing this, it kinda hurt to write ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlsborealis/pseuds/curlsborealis
Summary: Nations rise and fall, the flow of time unstoppable and inevitable as the world turns nd the sun sets and rises over and over. Night turns to day, day to night, as the populace inside the snow globe of time step their way down the streets in a dance of daily life. Who will be there to remember their names when their lives slip to dust, who will stay to sing their songs and kiss their memories as they float to the heavens like bubbles of souls. Who will be there to remember you long after you’re gone, when your life was lived and your eyes shut, sleep descending onto you with a final icy kiss to steal away the last whispers of breath from cooling lips.Fig Faeth is an Immortal. And she will be the one who remembers.
Relationships: Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth, Fabian Aramais Seacaster/Original Female Character, Former Relationships - Relationship, Kristen Applebees/Original Female Character, Kristen Applebees/Tracker O'Shaughnessey, Ragh Barkrock/Gorgug Thistlespring, Zelda Donovan/Gorgug Thistlespring
Series: Fantasy High Afterhours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782037
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	An Immortal’s Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This is just Bittersweet. And I do not believe in Gorgug Thistlestraight.

Nations rise and fall, the flow of time unstoppable and inevitable as the world turns nd the sun sets and rises over and over. Night turns to day, day to night, as the populace inside the snow globe of time step their way down the streets in a dance of daily life. Who will be there to remember their names when their lives slip to dust, who will stay to sing their songs and kiss their memories as they float to the heavens like bubbles of souls. Who will be there to remember you long after you’re gone, when your life was lived and your eyes shut, sleep descending onto you with a final icy kiss to steal away the last whispers of breath from cooling lips. The thoughts of loved ones, the memories of their past ties together both mortals and immortals alike. Laughter on the wind echoed through the sky with ghostly touch, the phantom sound of parties and quiet nights on a roof of a van that could turn into a boat, the whispers of relieved words after a grueling battle followed after the crunch of boots on grass as ripped jean clad legs carefully hiked up higher and higher before stopping. Wind swelled high in the sky, lifting a long braid and whipping it behind her bomber clad back, a ceramic container held tight in salmon colored hands nicked with callouses and thin scars like stripes of dying ink on paper.

Fig stood on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set, it’s golden rays skittering across the surface of an endless ocean, the horizon stretching out long and wide. Brilliant hues of pastels painted the sky in a gentle gradient of pinks, oranges and yellows, wispy clouds dotting the sky with their fluffy bodies. The soft whooshing of waves crashed against rock and sand, the tide ebbing and flowing with the smooth wash of water licking away to erode the shores. Slowly, steady, salt stinging the air and sky, warming Fig’s face with the gentle caress of the seaside front. She breathed out a soft sigh, looking out into the distance towards where she knew Leviathan floated proud and mighty far, far off. The city carrying memories of times and Pirates long gone, of battles fought and a people saved. Beyond that further laid Fallinel, the eleven country that lasted forever: built by immortals, kept by immortals, continued for immortals.

A laugh puffed from her chest, her smile wry and tired as she remembered the first time she visited the great nation, when she drove to Leviathan in a van that turned into a boat with six of her favorite friends, her mother, and her father. Leviathan where she found her first true love, Fallinel where she rescued her genius friend Adaine, high school truly was a ride. Start to finish. Freshman year she beat a dragon, sophomore year she defeated a god, junior year she wreaked an elder creature that darkened the land, and senior year she did it all over again. Another sigh, the immortal archdevil, half-elf tiefling looked down at the urn in her hands. Smiling sadly at it, tears pooling in her eyes, not from the salt that scattered off the waves but from the heartbreak deep within her soul.

She was all alone now.

Fabian was the first to go. The young swashbuckler should have lived longer but his life as a fighter and a pirate lead to his early demise at the tentacles of a writhing Kraken. He went down how he wanted, fighting for the ones he loved, fighting for his own name as he conquered himself and the sea. Fabian sewed his name on the earth, both as a dancer and as a fierce swords master, his body graceful and powerful. They never did find his body but Fig knew without a shadow of a doubt, Fabian died that day. She felt it, the magic she sent out in thin curls of red that simply rested in her friends' souls returned back to her when he died. His spirit descended, Fabian ascending to a plane for heroes with no regrets, no fears, no worries because he knew the people he left behind would be okay the moment he took the kraken down with him. The man was a hero, a kind hero who loved his wife and kids and wasn’t afraid to braid his darling baby girl’s wild white curls that twined their way around her delicate face. Wasn’t afraid to teach his son not to be afraid, not to bury his feelings so that when he was gone his boy wouldn’t be caught in the same cycle of toxic masculinity Fabian bought into so early as a boy. Where his father pillaged and raped, terrorized the Celestine Sea, Fabian learned how to heal and protect, comfort those near and dear to him without worrying how the world saw him.

 _“Are you ever scared of leaving them behind, Fabian?”_ Fig remembered asking him, long long ago, they were at a New Year’s party, the former bad kids gathering together as full grown adults, some with full families others happily alone, all of them content with life and where they were but not a single one forgetting the inked numbers in black scrawled in their wrists’ skin that marked the day they met. _“Your wife... the kids.”_

She remembered how Fabian shook his head with a chuckle, his white hair dotted with the blonde of old age as it was tied back into a braided man bun. A gold and silver shadow dusted his firm jaw, his face older with crow’s feet happily crinkling the corners of his eyes every time he smiled with the slightest hint of his youth’s cheeky glow. Earrings sparkled from his pointed ears, the light catching on the silver that swirled with magic, a wedding gift from Gorgug.

 _“Never. They’re good kids and I know if anything ever happened to me my family has you guys to support them. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of how excited they get whenever uncle Riz comes over.”_ He had bounced his shoulder against Fig’s laughing as he watched Gorgug give his little boy a glowing metallic bird that chirped and cooed whenever he touched it, while his little girl squealed with excitement as she voraciously flipped through an ensorcelled picture book while perched on her wife’s, Ayda, lap. _“Nah, how can I be worried, with you guys as family?”_

Fig looked down at her wrist, having seated herself on the grass as memories flowed through her like water. Her wrist itched lightly, purple glowing from under her salmon skin as a name etched itself in flowing ink. Fabian’s delicate scrawl signing his name in steady halfling, the language his first after learning it in rhymes and lullabies from Cathilda. A tear dripped down Fig’s cheek, trailing lower until it splattered against pointed blades of green. She breathed out, a sob pitching out from her lungs in a tiny hiccup. The purple lit up the next name starting to etch itself in thick bold lines.

The second one to go was Riz. He grew into a fine spy, espionage and sleuthing his path in life since he was a youth from wanting to chase and aspire to the same level as his mother, his father. At first it was out of the want to keep order, to keep laws in place, the older he got however it was less for the benefit of the law and more for the benefit of those who needed his help. His mom left the police, their system corrupt and unavailable for everyone who needed it, and instead focused on becoming an attorney, fucking the money and choosing to represent immigrants who came into Solace with nary a cent to their names. Sklonda never had to bury her son like Hallariel did, the strong attorney having died happy and satisfied as an old woman on her deathbed. Her son followed soon after. Riz left behind no partners, but he did have a child. A sweet storm genasi whose hair crackled with lightning and left his button up shirts often filled with singed ratted holes in their gangly tween years before they got through puberty with loving and supportive help from their father. 

He was often seen in between jobs taking them to Basrar’s, kissing their forehead, embarrassing them when he dropped them off at school or picked them up from school functions. Despite being far shorter than his child, he wasn’t one to shy away from gentle easy affection, kissing their cheeks and forehead, tucking them into bed, happily staying up late as he taught them tips and tools of the trade as he gifted them their first photography kit and watching their stormy grey eyes light up with crackles of blue and white. He wasn’t rich, by any means, but the comfortable apartment he lived so similar to the one of his youth was a warm loving environment for his family of two to grow up in. All of his friends made names for themselves in the limelight except for Riz, the goblin more than happy to stay in the shadows as a functional rogue of justice who supported the people’s rights rather than further violating them. Who just wanted to help people get home to the ones waiting for them just like how he so desperately wanted to, to see their smile or their peaceful face as they slept when got back a little too late but before the clock turned to midnight. 

Just like Fabian, however, they never did find Riz’s body. No one knew where he went, what assignment he was in, who gave him the assignment. But just as with his best friend, Fig could feel it, the sharp stab of her own magic coming back to her, the release of another soul only this time to heaven instead of heroes’ realm, that one separation bringing forth the full realization that the “Bad Kids,” which they called each other more as a joke as adults, would never be together again for the rest of their existences. Fig was the one who had to make the call, telling all of her friends and Riz’s only kid the news, tears streaming down her face as she cried into the crystal. She remembered the day of the funeral, remembered how the sky cracked with rainless lightning, tears streaming down his genasi grown kid’s face. Fabian’s family was there, the half elf’s own adult kid’s crying over the loss of their uncle Riz, arms hooked with one another as they supported Riz’s adopted kid. The three were inseparable, a trio who endured the harshest storms, loved each other as only family could. Fig waited until the end to talk to them, stepping forward to check up and talk to them, her hand falling onto their shoulder.

 _“You know your dad loved you right?”_ She asked, rubbing their back lightly, the book in her pocket weighing heavy and full. _“I don’t think there was a single day that went by when he wasn’t bragging about how proud he was of you, how his kid could be so wonderful and brilliant. I think he memorized every single date of every one of your galleries.”_

 _“Yeah, I know,”_ they replied, wiping tears from their eyes with small sniffles. _“That’s why it hurts more to know he’s gone. It’s probably selfish but I would’ve loved more time with him, he just... he was such a good dad and I don’t think I appreciated him enough as a kid. Did you know that every Sunday, he would take me out for pancakes? Then one week he tried to make some and he started a fire in the kitchen. Worst pancakes ever but he tried. He always tried.”_

Fig shook her head with a laugh, remembering the time their party was out on a quest, a break they took during the chaos of investigation to make some food and hang out when Riz burned Cathilda’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. Fabian laughed so hard that night, his belly belted laughter making the rest of them crack a smile and start giggling until they were all losing their heads. Fig couldn’t help but watch them all, the way their eyes crinkled, Riz’s blush, how Fabian and Gorgug draped themselves over Riz as they fought to stay standing. She took a picture of that moment, of every moment after. Snapping and developing photo after photo of candid Riz moments because she knew he was doing the same for each of them. Fig licked her lips, turning to the young genasi whose eyes sparked like a summer’s storm.

 _“This was supposed to be a gift for him, for his fifty-fifth,”_ she murmured, handing the album of Riz candids developed just how the goblin preferred, old, retro and arduous. The long process was worth it though, Fig could never forget the smell of a dark room after spending so many hours in it developing film after film of her friend. _“I think he would’ve wanted you to have it. A little keepsake of your dad’s best... and, probably in his opinion, worst moments.”_

Fig shook her head, eyes sad and somber as she stared at the urn in her lap. She owned every album now, every book filled with photo after photo of them, of the Bad Kids at their prime, of Riz and Fabian with crowns made of shrimp, of Ragh lifting Gorgug up in a warm embrace, of Adaine and Riz passed out at a mahogany table wearing matching University hoodies, of Gorgug standing at a chalkboard in front of his students, of weddings and graduations, of Fig’s head in Ayda’s lap as she braided the tiefling’s long brown hair while Gorgug braided Ayda’s fiery locks and Fabian braided Gorgug’s and Ragh braided Fabian’s. So many moments, dumb little things frozen forever like the time Kristen laughed so hard sprite shot out of her nose or the time Aelwyn painted Ragh’s fingernails, and the important ones too. But remembering the photos, the albums; Fig couldn’t help but miss her friends, miss their echoing laughs and listen to their nonsensical banter just one more time. They were fast friends in high school, fast friends that became lasting friends for the rest of their lives, even their children treating each other as friends and family. Fig looked up from the urn, watching the sun dip below the horizon, a rare flash of green lighting the sky. The green flash. Something almost as unique as unicorns, only this didn’t turn into a necrotic monster that killed your friends.

Kristen was the next to go, only this time she didn’t come back, the Saint gone forever when the gentle fingers of Cassandra’s final blessing took her in her sleep. Fig sat at her bedside, watched as he soul left her body and magic snapped back inside of his, hand nearly reaching out to grab the holy soul from the goddex’ hands before stopping herself. She watched them float away, slipping into the sky towards where Riz dwelled and far away from where the arch-devil made her home. Kristen lived a long life with a woman she met on one of the quests she went on with her fellow party members. Shortly after Tracker left Solace for Fallinel, she and Kristen broke off, the two meeting up and discussing their relationship. The pit falls, the highs, and ultimately their break up once Tracker made Kristen realize that she used the young moon Priestess as a means to unload her problems without listening to the werewolf and her own issues. They never got back together, but they stayed friends, the two teaming up to help each other with projects, create things together as friends. Kristen never did have kids of her own, but instead started a group through the Church of Night and Mystery to reach out to help LGBTQ youth finding their way in life and giving them support, giving them safe space away from school and family where they could be themselves and figure themselves out. Figure out how they interact with the world and their identities, what it meant to be in the community for them and others. Kristen and her wife became the officially unofficial gay moms to a bunch of rambunctious youths, their little family growing almost daily with more and more teens wanting to find some peace of mind under the guise of “bible study” just as a precaution.

 _“You know...”_ Kristen mused one day, she and Fig lazily hanging about on a park bench, Kristen’s staff propped against the table her shoulder popped up. Fig was idly blowing bubbles, watching them float up, lighter than air, her attention split between the bubbles and the teens that argued back and forth over a book, the debate getting heated as voices raised in defense of an antagonistic character. _“I always wanted to have kids...”_

Fig asked, putting down the bubbles as she shifted her attention to her friend, brows drawing together. Her head tilted, looking at the ginger lazing back, tie dye shirt and shorts long since discarded for a patterned button-up with a leather jacket and mom jeans, the only thing consistent were the god awful Borkenstorck’s on her feet. _“Do you regret not having any?”_

 _“What do you mean?”_ she chuckled, pointing at the arguing teens. One of them was slapping the book as he emphasized his point, another arguing back with lazy statements that clearly got under his skin as they relaxed on the lap of a companion whose hand carded idly through their midnight black hair. Cheeky grins and raised middle fingers, stuck out tongues and rolled eyes, they were barking each other constantly with weirder and weirder theories that raised the blood pressure of the boy as his eye twitched. _“They’re right there.”_

Kristen’s name in her awkward chunky letters inched their way down Fig’s wrist with a glow of radiant amethyst, the ink settling deep under the salmon red skin as if it had been there for years. Three names down, each one in the familiar script of her friend’s handwriting. If only they knew. Fig looked up, the sun was sinking deeper and deeper, the sky quickly bleeding into night, stars just starting to peak out from under the sun’s radiant blanket.

Gorgug was the fifth one to pass away, the half orc living a long and satisfied life, dying of old age in his sleep next to his husband. Gorgug and Zelda, early albeit awkward loves, didn’t pan out. The two eventually broke things off around senior year when the puppy-love early romance feelings petered out. To many outside of their relationship it seemed like a surprise, the two quiet loners a near perfect fit but their relationship was better off as companionable friends. Especially after the lanky half orc essentially invented his own science to arcanotech. The bad kids and seven maidens of the apocalypse were privy however, to the way the two of them somehow became more awkward around each other, unsure what to do with themselves as they struggled to connect as time waned on. Come college Gorgug started on working towards gaining a Doctorate’s degree in architecture with a double minor in welding and woodworking, his certification in guitar building and maintenance, and a fun little hobby of collecting rare materials during his quest. He was a hard worker, an incredibly talented hard worker and even though the academics commonly eluded him in the form of essays and research papers for common class and Solace literature, it couldn’t be ignored that Gorgug wasn’t just good with his hands. Catching the tiny details in the hilt of a sword as he engraved swirling sirens and floating fish deep in warm steel, carefully crafting an elaborate table patterned like a chessboard with tiles of opal and iridescent obsidian. 

Their party liked to sit in the back of his few lecture classes, most of his classes occurring in the shop or forges because teaching that isn’t physical or interactive wasn’t applicable to the medium when lessons should be taught by hand. The math behind sound structures was well and good but without knowing the materials used then what was even the point. Teaching suited Gorgug, it was beautiful to watch him smile with his students, teach them how to be creative. It was sweeter still when Ragh came back from Fallinel and asked Gorgug for lessons on how to create instead of destroy, the broad half orc taking his time to craft little wooden figures as he delicately carved out bird feathers under Gorgug’s watchful eye. The two of them reconnected as they both worked together against the stereotypes of half orcs only knowing how to break everything apart instead of building them up. It was something the two of them, together with the support of each other, worked hard to subvert, worked hard to break from as the redefined what it meant to be an orc, a half orc specifically, in Spyre. Being a barbarian, and even more so being an orc, didn’t mean raging or angry, it simply meant being whatever they wanted to be.

Hours, Fig spent, in their workshop, often with Ayda by her side as she excitedly watched one of the greatest wizarding minds in its purest form of action. That particular day she found herself perched in Gorgug’s workshop, watching the lanky still man carefully fix a broken violin, swiping varnish over it’s curved body, she strummed away on the guitar while Ragh painstakingly carved out an owl bear per Ayda’s request. The two of them were humming along to the bard’s gentle strums, a flowing rhythm washing through the air with symphonic notes. She tilted her head, looking at the ring that hung off of Gorgug’s neck, a matching one on Ragh’s finger, her eyes flicked between the two, studying them with an intense curiosity customary of the tiefling. 

_“Gorgug?”_ she asked quietly when she was convinced that he wasn’t working on something that could easily be broken, a low hum was her response. Dark eyes glancing up to regard her from under a few long strands of hair that draped across his face, at the time he and Fabian had matching man buns with the only difference lying in the lack of braids twisting in Gorgug’s hair. _“Do you ever miss it? The quests... I mean.”_

 _“No, not really,”_ he replied with a shake of his head, looking at Fig with obsidian black eyes that were the color of cool space but held the warmth of a fire. His smiles were always soft and quieter than the wind brushing through the autumn’s air, but held more true genuine emotion than Fig felt she ever could in her entire life. _“Because now I have time to make things for you guys. It’s probably weird of me to say this but... I love the way you guys look whenever I can make you something from scratch. Your genuine smiles are my inspiration.”_

A fourth name etched itself into her skin. Gorgug always had surprisingly soft, gentle handwriting, his name written in the thin wisps of geometrically organic letters common to gnomish. She shook her head, wishing the lines were a little bit bolder because they were so easily lost against the other names but knowing she wouldn’t have it any other way, that’s just how Gorgug was. The fifth and final name started elegantly swooping it’s way down Fig’s wrist. The final one. It had been three hundred years since Gorgug was last alive, three hundred years since Fig last watched him tinker away at any project which fancied him. Three hundred years since she watched Fabian sway to music with his wife wrapped up tight in his arms, since she walked into a darkroom to look at photo proofs freshly made by Riz, since she draped herself over Kristen’s back as the ginger annotated another Philosophy book. Three hundred years, and she didn’t look a day over thirty, her blood immortal from being elven and fiendish, from ascending the ranks and becoming an arch-devil.

But it had only been a few weeks since she lost Adaine.

Fig curled herself over the ash filled urn, crying freely as her tears dripped and slid down its ceramic shell. Inside the urn were the cremated remains of her oldest friend, she was the only one immortal like Fig but unlike the tiefling she always knew that her life would stretch behind mortal comprehension. Three hundred years is a long time, but to an elf it was supposed to be chump change, someone like Adaine stood proud and tall as time flowed on but she stayed still. Fig could see it in her eyes, the older they got, how someone like Adaine could face infinity with a straight back and a sharp sword at her side, civilizations rising and falling before her while she held on steady and true against the slippery grains. It was embedded deep in her, the People’s Oracle, the master of time and seer of fate as strands of new worlds swirled around her with new endless possibilities that only she could translate. And yet, despite her stature, her steady boldness and vibrant calmness a soothing thing to sit next to and cling onto; she was gone as well. Of the original six, only one remained.

It burned with a passion when the final strand of magic snapped into Fig, the devilish wings stretching from her back snapping against her as her knees hit and buckled. Her body curled forward with the force of a sucker punch, breath bursting out in a sharp puff of air strong enough to start a hurricane. She never cried so hard as she did that day, losing that last alive thread of “The Bad Kids,” of her chaotic crew, of the greatest people she ever knew. Fabian, Riz, Kristen Gorgug, Adaine. And now it was Fig, just Fig. It hurt to be the only one who remembered them.

It hurt to say goodbye for good.

 _“You’re leaving?”_ she asked one movie night, the film playing before them was easily ignored but it was good to continue companionable traditions. “ _Where will you go?”_

 _“I don’t know yet,”_ replied Adaine, the woman finally staring at the skylight in her tower, light flickering over her face with bold colors from the blue screen. The Mordred Manor was quieter without the echoing calls of their friends and family, without the way Fabian laughed so hard the ground shook with his jubilation, without the skitter of scampering feet perching higher so Riz could seat himself comfortably, the noise of new trinkets filling the hall as freshly made metallic creatures clamored for attention, the heated debates of Kristen arguing philosophy back and forth,without the clap of Jawbone’s hands when he laughed and Sandra Lynn’s bold admonishments. It was quiet, had been for a long time. _“I think it’s time I stop planning things out. I’m going to try to live nomadically for a little while, get to know the land, the people, the world. There’s only so much I can learn in Solace, there’s more land, more people beyond our countries’ borders. I want to learn about them all.”_

Fig silently nodded her head, turning away as she stared at the ground with somber furrowed brows wrinkling her face, her hand stilling the idle strokes of Ayda’s downy hair. Eyes burning with fire looked up to meet the dark brown of her own, flame meeting rich mahogany only for the heat to slip away and regard pale skin and platinum hair. Ayda spoke up in Fig’s stead, noting the cool silence echoing from the tiefling like the empty tundras of ice in Frostheim. _“When will you leave?”_

 _“In the morning,”_ she replied, looking at the pair head on. Like Riz, Adaine never married and she never wanted to. All the love she ever needed was given to her by her friends and family, there was something nice about it, however, while Riz was alive to know that there was someone so close to her who felt just like her. Fig knew, in that moment, Adaine could see how alone the tiefling was starting to feel, had been feeling, without the bright vibrant souls of her friends constantly burning loudly nearby. Fig knew Adaine felt it too. _“I won’t ask you to come with me, Fig. Just don’t forget that this isn’t goodbye for good, just for a little while. You’ll always be able to call me whenever you need me.”_ She touched the tattoo on her wrist, Fig feeling the matching numbers on her own light and burn brightly. _“We’re friends Fig, just don’t forget me when I’m gone.”_

Fig wiped her eyes, standing up on the edge of the cliff with the urn clutched tightly between shaking hands. The sky was ink black, stars glittering brightly like dusted diamonds scattered through the weave of night. It was time. She popped the top off, carefully putting down the ceramic lid before tipping the urn over and scattering Adaine’s remains to the wind. Watching them slip and fall out of the pottery like sand pouring out of a broken hourglass, grains dotting the rush of breeze and giving it form. Warm dark eyes watched her float and scatter, body now light as the flutter of dandelion seedlings catching on a summer’s day. For the barest second Fig could have sworn she saw the dust take form, Adaine’s face flashing in the wind with a sad smile before dissipating into the dots of sand. The fifth and final name, elven now in an elegantly messy scrawl of sharp dips and curls. Every name burned bright with purple glowing with Fig’s pulse, each name carrying its own memories. Her whispered out against the gentle lap of water in a quiet promise.

“I could never forget you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! And I might have feelings regarding fantasy high that absolutely nothing to do with the feeling from ACOC.   
> Here are my social media accts? [Twitter](https://twitter.com/transandbored), [Tumblr](https://curlsborealis.tumblr.com/), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/curlsborealis/?hl=en).
> 
> Fan accounts: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/incorrectd20), [Tumblr](https://incorrect-dimension20-quotes.tumblr.com/), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/incorrectdimension20quotes/).


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